


Christmas at the Hospital

by gth694e



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas fic, First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, like the fluffiest fluff to fluff, pure and unabashed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: Phil Coulson is in the hospital on Christmas day, and Clint doesn't want him to wake up alone.





	Christmas at the Hospital

_Beep. Beep. Ding-a-ling. Beep. Crash._ “Fuck.”

Phil Coulson had been in a hospital bed enough times to know that this wasn’t what it was supposed to sound like when he woke up.

He cracked his eyes open and squinted against the assault of color. Red and green streamers hung from the ceiling. A wreath was thrown over his heart monitor—which the doctors couldn’t have possibly allowed. There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the room, covered in purple and red construction paper ornaments. But out of all the spectacle and decoration, the craziest thing was the elf swearing at a set of jingle bells in the doorway.

“Swear to God,” the elf was muttering as he tried to wrap the bells around the door handle, but the bells slipped from his hands falling to the ground with a cacophonous clang that made Phil wince.

He had just woken up from surgery; surely, he didn’t deserve this extra punishment.

“Fuck this,” the elf muttered. Suddenly a knife was vibrating in the door, the jingle bells softly jangling beneath it.

“Barton,” Phil croaked—his mouth full of that post anesthesia cotton feeling. “What?”

The elf froze before looking up at the bed with alarm. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet! The doctors said you wouldn’t wake up for another hour.”

If Phil’s brain hadn’t also been full of post-op cotton he would have responded with something witty or at least his trade mark dry humor. Instead he could only look at this master assassin who was dressed like one of Santa’s Elves—complete with red hose, pointy green shoes, green tunic, and red hat—and croak out, “Water.”

“Oh, sorry!” the man dashed to the bed side, grabbing the glass of water next to the bed and offering it to Phil.

The water was heavenly, like honey and sunshine and goodness and light, pouring down Phil’s dry throat. God, he hated how surgery made his throat dry and achy. He hated surgery.

_Then don’t get shot next time, Coulson_ , he reprimanded himself with amusement.

Phil emptied the glass, and Clint pulled it away. “Do you want me to get your more?”

“What I want,” Phil said, “is for you to explain to me what’s happening right now.”

“Well you got shot…”

“No,” Phil stopped him. “Not with me. I know why I’m here. Why are you here?”

“Uh.” Clint scratched the back of his neck as he looked anywhere except at Phil. “It’s Christmas Day? And I didn’t…you shouldn’t…I uh…”

Clint was saved from coming up with an adequate answer by the door opening. Phil expected a nurse. Instead he got…Santa Claus? At least Santa Claus played by a 5’3” 135 lb Russian assassin. “Ho Ho Ho.” Natasha Romanoff smiled from behind a fake white beard. “Merry Christmas!”

Phil just stared at her in shock. He was still unconscious. That was the only explanation. Either that or he had died, and this was…heaven? Possibly hell? He really wasn’t sure.

“Agent Coulson,” Natasha’s voice was pitched low and serious, her smile disappearing. “There was some debate at the North Pole whether you have been a good boy this year.”

“I…uh…?” Honestly what could he possibly say in response to that.

“And you!” Natasha whirled on Clint who jumped, his hands raising up defensively as if caught red-handed in some sort of illegal act. “Your record is off the chart! We aren’t sure you deserve anything.”

“Aww, Santa, no. I’ve tried my best.”

“Santa” just shook her head with disappointment, her hat gently jingling.

At this point Phil debated reaching over for the button that would call the nurse. However, these were his agents—his team—and between Natasha’s conspiratorial smile and Clint’s flustered adorableness, Phil was feeling an overwhelming surge of affection for his agents.

It was Christmas Day, and they could be anywhere else, but instead they had chosen to be here, with him.

“Fortunately for both of you,” Natasha continued. “Agent Romanoff has continued her record of good behavior for the fifth consecutive year. And I’ve decided to grant the one thing she asked for this year.”

Natasha pulled a sprig of mistletoe out of her pack, and Clint made a noise like he was being strangled. Phil looked from Santa to her elf.

It was Phil who had been shot, yet at this moment it was Clint who looked like he was going to pass out.

“Nat,” the archer said, his voice desperate. “I…don’t…”

Santa didn’t listen to her elf. Instead she leaned over Phil and tied the sprig of mistletoe to his headboard. Then she leaned down and kissed Phil’s cheek; a press of soft lips accompanied by a fuzzy fake beard.

“He did this for you,” she whispered softly into his ear. “He didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas.” She pulled back further and said more loudly, this time in her Santa voice. “Merry Christmas, Agent Coulson! And a happy New Year!”

Then Santa sauntered out of the hospital room, leaving behind a shocked Phil Coulson and a panicking Clint Barton.

“Mistletoe, haha.” The archer’s laugh was fake and nervous. “What could she possibly have been thinking. Maybe you’ll get some kisses from that cute nurse this way, right, Coulson?” He chuckled, eyeing the door as if for escape.

Phil wasn’t sure if it was the drugs, the near-death experience, or Natasha’s parting words that provided him with sudden clarity, but suddenly he saw the archer with new eyes. Natasha Romanoff had provided Phil and Clint a gift. The most perceptive woman in SHIELD had provided them with mistletoe. As if she knew something they both didn’t. As if she had seen how Phil had been hiding his longing for his asset. As if maybe…maybe she had seen something similar on Clint’s side as well.

Clint Barton had come into a SHIELD hospital, the place he hated the most on the planet, to decorate Phil’s room dressed like an elf because he didn’t want Coulson to be alone on Christmas Day.

“Barton.” Phil said, and suddenly Clint was by his side, nervously hovering.

“Sir? Do you need more water?”

“Phil.”

“What?”

“Call me Phil.”

“I…oh.” A blush dusted the archer’s cheeks, and Phil _knew_.

Clint Barton returned his feelings.

Phil reached up, and Clint came nearer, panicking that Phil was even moving. “Sir…Phil, you shouldn’t really—you should stay still. You’re still healing.”

As if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, but Phil didn’t call him out on it. He just smiled. “Well then you better get over here and collect your Christmas present.”

“I…what?”

Phil looked up at the mistletoe, and then back at Clint. Clint stared at him with large surprised eyes. “I believe it’s traditional to kiss someone who is under the mistletoe,” Phil pointed out.

Clint glanced to the door again, like a trapped animal, and suddenly Phil wondered if in his drug addled state, he had misread everything and possibly even hallucinated Natasha-as-Santa. If Clint was still looking for a way out, he couldn’t possibly want to kiss Phil. “It’s okay, Barton,” Phil said, trying to calm the archer. “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want.”

The archer’s eyes zeroed back on Phil, and he said, “Clint.”

“What?”

Suddenly Clint was by his side, nerves disappearing into determination and purpose. “You should call me, Clint.”

And then suddenly chapped lips were pressing to Phil’s dry ones.

As far as first kisses go, the kiss itself was chaste and simple. But never had a first kiss filled Phil with such pure giddiness. He felt like he was a middle school all over again—not understanding how to actually kiss and yet feeling a buzz from the slightest touch.

Clint pulled back, still leaning over the bed, his eyes searching Phil’s. “I can’t decide if I’m hoping the drugs are so strong that you won’t remember this, or if I want you to remember,” Clint said.

Phil reached out, grabbing a fistful of that ridiculous elf outfit in his hands. “I hope I remember,” Phil said. “I want to remember.”

Clint’s expression turned fond and a little bit dopey, and Phil wished he was strong enough to pull the archer down towards him so he could kiss him again. But as it was his arm was shaking from the effort of holding Clint’s shirt.

“If I don’t remember, you have to remind me,” Phil said. “I want this—I want you—I…”

Clint leaned in—his jingle bells jingling—and brushed a kiss across Phil’s lips again. He then pulled Phil’s hand gently from his shirt, and Phil was too exhausted to stop him. The excitement and rush were quickly fading, drowning in the lull of pain medicine.

“I’ll remind you,” Clint said.

“Don’t leave.” Phil managed to say before closing his eyes.

“I won’t. Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas,” Phil’s words were slurring. He felt a hand take ahold of his gently.

“I love you, Phil.” The words were so soft that Phil almost thought he dreamed them.

When Phil Coulson woke up several hours later to see an elf asleep with his head on by Phil’s hand, he remembered everything. He reached out, petting Clint’s hair gently. The man stirred, blinking up at Phil with sleepy eyes. “Hmm, sir? Do you need something?”

“No,” Phil said with a soft smile. “I love you too.”

Clint literally beamed, and God, Phil wanted to live in this moment eternally.

Except not exactly this moment. More like he wanted it to be a while from now when the doctor gave him a clean bill of health because there were things he wanted to do with Clint Barton, things he couldn’t do while in a hospital bed.

But Phil would have to wait, and he would. Because he knew Clint wasn’t going anywhere.

And neither was he.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a prompt floating around tumblr along time ago: “you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas”
> 
> Also this fic was unbeta'd so all mistakes were my own. :)
> 
> Merry Christmas, you guys, and you can always find me on [tumblr](http://the-feels-assassin.tumblr.com/)


End file.
